A Long Journey
by PurpleYin
Summary: The prospect of going home seemed surreal, but it was happening. She just shouldn't have expected it to be that easy. Sorafic.
1. Chapter 1

Spoilers: All through Season 1.

A/N: This fic is based on the premise Sora got exchanged for the nukes used in Siege Part 2, something Martin Gero (writer for SGA) said was scripted but never filmed due to time constrictions. It's not canon but here's my take on what her going home might be like. It's angsty but hopefully good. Thanks to Fanwoman for beta reading this.

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**A Long Journey**

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She's surprised to be here, home again. And even more surprised to have been thrust into one of the training rooms. She has have forgotten the routes of the underground, or perhaps this isn't the same one as she knew, but she know who to expect.

Kolya arrives, walking through the door solemnly, throwing his shirt off – exposing the scar that she knows came from Major Sheppard's attack upon him the day she was captured.

She remembers her first night on Atlantis, Sheppard didn't trust her one bit, and he taunted her about how her commander was dead, how he'd killed him. She was meant to be a friend of theirs, in a loose sort of way, but to him she was still the enemy – Sheppard spoke casually, but his words cut into her. That night, she'd been sure she'd be alone from then on, locked away in the city of the Ancestors, surrounded by her enemy.

Kolya's injury seems to have healed well. He wears the scar proudly, but not like any other man would. It's not about ego or defiance of death; it's just another memory to him, another scratch upon him, a mark of someone he intends to overcome some day – though they have marked him, he wears it as if he has marked them.

He picks up the equipment and throws her a staff with two pieces of binding attached. Uncertain, she removes them and works the fabric around her wrists, watching him for cues. She can't be sure what she's to do here; she rather expected to be dead by now for insubordination of the worst kind, bar mutiny. They won't trust her either, not after months in enemy hands – which is why she finds this odd, to be back and in front of Kolya. It sounds callous to her now, though she knows it's her people's way, the policy that protects them - the Atlanteans would presume loyalty and do everything they could to rescue their own, but her people abandoned her for so long that she knows they can't just take her back with open arms, even ignoring her disobedience. It is just another one of the many differences between her previous captors and her own kind.

When she is ready, she takes up the staff, holding it tightly, and so the fight begins. It's tough from the beginning, because she's not used to fighting him alone. The practice sessions she remembers here were always an affair for learning and three against one, against him. Still, this doesn't put her off much as she parries blows and twists her body from them. The floor is a dance ground, bodies and weapons moving in and out. It's a dangerous dance though, and halfway through she realises this isn't the same as before. There is no kind edge to his smile as he catches her arm with a hard blow, and there are no new moves taken slowly, in an attempt to teach. Every strike is calculated and done with an ease against her, nothing held back. She's almost lost in the blur of movements, barely finding time to defend against them, let alone take advantage of any. Then she sees that one move she recognises and automatically follows through her block with the start of the talesh maneuver, before she remembers that she's using Teyla's method and hesistates. Rethinking takes up only a fraction of a second, but in the time it takes for her to correct herself and use the Genii way, Kolya has preempted her, and she knows it's a mistake from which she can't recover.

She's right. Less than two minutes later, she's on the floor, between his staff and hers, breathing painfully. He looks down at her and announces rather unusually, "You lose."

Never in her life has she heard him say that after practice. Although she has always lost to him, he never sought to rub it in; it was never important to him. She can't help but feel it's not simply the fight she has lost. This was a test, and she has failed it.

He releases her and strides out, and in no time her escorts move over to her. She's about to protest that she can manage to get up herself when she feels their arms around her, dragging her away instead of helping her up. They pull her roughly out of the room, never giving her pause to catch her balance. Facing backwards, her feet scuff on the floor as they move too fast for her, she tries not to fall over completely as she sees everything familiar move out of view. It's everything she can do to not fall down completely in front of them, which would be yet another humiliation, and she has no breath to complain, all of it taken away at by her combat with Kolya. Even if she could strike or shout out, it would do no good; she is already deep within the bowels of their underground city. There is no point in trying to stop this; it will only make things worse. And besides, she knows the guards do exactly as told, just like she used to; there is nothing she can do to dissuade them from what they were ordered to do.

She's dumped into a cell after that. It is square, four solid walls of hard concrete, cold like the ground around them all. It's the prefect reminder of exactly where she is, 'home', a place like no other and a place she was being denied entry to. She is used to the surroundings despite her months in Atlantis. She had, after all, spent years down here. But this isn't quite how she remembered it – this is everything she knew stripped bare, with no personality and no comfort, not even the little the luxuries afforded to them on occasion. It's like returning to find no one is home, that your house is empty; home now is a generic cell, one of those reserved for prisoners, which tells her exactly what they think of her. Physically she is back, but she is not accepted, this isn't a welcome return.

Her first visitor is unexpected. Narseph, her cousin, her closest living relative and the head of her family, now her father is dead and she had been missing. He walks in without greeting her and stands over her hunched form.

"Did you kill her then? Was it worth your dishonour?"

"Who? Teyla?"

He sneers at her question.

"Yes, Teyla, Teyla Emmagan. You wanted revenge, and I hope for your sake you got it, for it may redeem you in the family's eyes. "

"No."

"No! You disobeyed a direct order. You weren't there when your unit needed you – the mission failed because of you – _and_ you didn't kill her? You were there for months; surely you could have tricked them and stabbed her in the back. Something, anything to make it worth it."

She knows Narseph can't have talked to Kolya, for whatever she did fail in, she never caused the failure of the whole mission. Kolya is not a man of ego, he takes both credit and blame where they are due. However there is a small part of her that feels that guilt Over the months she has had to contemplate on Atlantis, she has often wondered what she could have done to salvage the mission, to save those fifty men, even the two Atlanteans Kolya shot without thinking. It was then she'd first had her doubts, and if only she'd said something more then, maybe things would have been different. But contemplation isn't going to get her anywhere here. Everything important to her she has realised months ago, and she has only one thing to say to him on the matter of her father's death. She's not sure if her father would agree, but she no longer feels like she needs approval, least of all from those no longer living.

"There was no revenge to be had."

She tries to sit up straight against the wall and show strength, but it does no good. He studies her and, after passing judgment, obviously finds her unworthy – spitting on her without a second thought.

He walks back to the door, knocking on it to get the guards to release him. He pauses, however, to add his last thoughts.

"You know, he could have protected you, Kolya. He still has enough power. He could have taken you back under his wing, but it's obvious to him you aren't worthy. Do you know why, why it is that he doesn't want you? They think -

" - you're _tainted_." They both look to the door, finding Jarin there, all too happy to cut into the conversation. He regards her with a despicable look as he ends Narseph's sentence. The two men regard each other silently, and Narseph leaves her to her betrothed.

She's disturbed that he says it like a fact, as though it's something he already knows about her. At least her cousin gave her the benefit of the doubt, waiting for answers before condemning her.

This time, she doesn't bother trying to appear strong; she can sense he's made up his mind. He's nothing like the man she knew months ago, before... The man she knew would have swept her up in his arms, he would have been the first to petition against her treatment no matter what the cost was to him personally...and yet he plainly accepts it.

He strolls the room idly as he talks of how she is shamed, how she's shamed them – both of their families. Finally, he looks to her, eyes blazing as he lets her know just what this all means. "You are no longer deemed suitable. The engagement is broken; the council has validated the decision."

She holds back tears. She may be afraid of this virtual stranger, but she is not that weak. She won't give him the pleasure of seeing her upset, but she has to ask one question of him.

"Who made this choice?"

"The heads of houses. Only your cousin abstained from passing judgment on it. Otherwise, all the elders and most important people in our lines agreed. Everyone rejected you, understand?"

"Is that all? What about your decision?"

"Is that all! It is _everything_. The decision is final, absolute. What I feel is of no significance. You would do well to remember that; it applies to you as well, more so now than ever. You are at your people's mercy."

"You said you'd love me forever."

"No. I promised I 'd love Sora, daughter of Tiris, a warrior of the Genii, forever – you aren't her anymore. You are compromised in everyone's eyes. And do you want to know why they took you back, why they accepted Weir's offer? She was so foolish as to think you meant something. But, oh, they wanted to get you back alright– desperately I might add – but they do not trust you any more than her."

She notices the emphasis on that they wanted to get her back, not that they wanted her or cared, much like Jarin, as he leans in and steals a kiss. She doesn't resist, but she doesn't include herself. He takes it because he can and because he wants it, but no longer does he want her. Then he whispers, his voice quiet but sly, vicious to her ears – embodying the hate for her felt by her own people.

"They think of you as Atlantean, and they want what you know. That is the only reason."

He hurts the most by her actions, and so he hates her the most, a strange overturning of love that makes sense. He's the perfect Genii; he'd never question the ruling of the houses, just like she had never questioned her commander until they stormed Atlantis. She forgives him because it likely makes it easier on him. It's a love he is denied, and he'd be despised, himself, if he allowed himself to feel anything for her. But hate, that is a different matter – they would applaud those who hate the traitors, especially those like him who once felt the exact opposite.

As she hears the revulsion set in the words, she wishes it was the same for her, to hate him because he hates her, but she can't. She understands his reasons, and she knows what she has done to incur this wrath. Yet she wants the same mercy she has seen on Atlantis, and she can only blindly hate the Genii, her own people, for putting her here, for not rescuing her before she learnt and saw too much to come back the same.

"It was unanimous, you know. They all want answers, an advantage over the false Atlanteans. They want revenge for the recent humiliation, and you are their hope. Their little spy sent home, corrupted but useful. Maybe you have information, maybe you don't. Either way, they expect you to talk."

Jarin goes to leave, the guards opening the door for him, but he smiles at what he sees, whilst she can only hear distant footsteps. That's when her former love struts back to her, a jaunty smile on his face that scares her. Again he leans in, arms braced against his knees as he half crouches.

"I've had fun catching up... but not as much fun as Haryl will have with you, with his box of tricks. You've heard of him, haven't you? It's rather hard not to, or at least to not have heard of him by proxy, from his dear friends he visits for a chat. Anyway, I'd say see you soon, but I rather hope not to."

He means what he says. He's taken hate home, right into his heart. He knows what's going to happen here today, and he doesn't blink an eye over it. He smiles, instead, like it's just another pleasant day. Maybe it is for him, if you ignore the hatred and bad memories she brings back. He escapes the cell, leaving her alone very briefly, and for the first time she tries to think of home but can't. Everything is muddled, sounds of the ocean breaking through, pictures in her mind of her old home corrupted by where she is, right now. It seems like only thoughts of Atlantis offer comfort anymore, and even that is bitter, because its why everything is wrong, why she is wrong and unacceptable to her own kind. She wonders if Weir knew what she was sending her back to. She suspects she thought she was doing her a favour, doing the right thing in sending her home, but then Weir wasn't to know that she doesn't belong anywhere now. Even she didn't know at first. She felt relief when she stepped through the gate, glad to be away from a doomed city, and now, when she realises what little she has here, it is too late to go back. She no longer has a choice, and unlike on Atlantis, she has no second chance.


	2. Chapter 2

Spoilers: All through Season 1 - with future chapters spoilers for Season 2 Runner

A/N: Thanks to Fanwoman and Ellex for beta reading this excellently.

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**Chapter 2: Limits**  


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She laughs. There used to be a part of her that would have cared, but it neither surprises nor upsets her now. They've taken everything else from her. This is the last thing they can take, and they're too cowardly to do it themselves. It's the last rejection her society has. Death by that which they attempt so desperately to stave off – it's perfectly fitting for a traitor; it's the death they all despise and fear.

Yet she laughs when they call out her sentence.

'Death by Wraith.'

Those of her house smile happily at the punishment, Narseph in particular. She sees his sly grin. No doubt he thinks it's right; it's the same way her father died – the one she never avenged - and this is meant to rub it in. The smiles falter as she continues laughing, but she wonders what they expect from her. They've spent the last few months depriving her of anything and everything they could. She has no name. Although she vaguely remembers what it looked like written, she hasn't heard it in a long time and probably wouldn't recognise it if she did. Instead, she is 56908X4 – that's all she is to them. She has no family, no friends. Her past is her crime, and her future judged non-existent. They've made her part of a neatly ordered system, rather than a person, and finally they've finished processing her based on anything but real facts. If they were honest, they could not condemn her; they have no proof of any of the crimes she has committed. They forgave her for her original disloyalty in order to justify keeping her alive. When she gave up nothing useful, they sought to justify torture, and now they invent reasons to return to what should have happened long ago. But death sounds all too appealing to her, and it's ironic that they are giving her exactly what she wants.

There's no fight left in her; they just don't know that – she never had anything for them, she never resisted, but truthfulness doesn't save you here. They've driven her mostly crazy, and yet they don't understand any of what's occurred. They never needed torture to get their answers. She was Sora; she was a Genii, and she would have done what was asked. But there were no questions to which she could have given answers to satisfy them, even if they had known what to ask. Instead, they have emptied her of everything but the desired information. She stands proud as they come to drag her away, still laughing, now because she finds it amusing that they miss the significance of all this. When she returned, she might not have been entirely Genii, but since then, they've done a tremendous job of making her anything but one. Just as well they hate her anyway, because they wouldn't like her if they did see the truth under all the politics and the cruelty that came with it.

The minute they stopped treating her as one of their own was when she started to turn away from them. Their treatment only exacerbated her doubts and quickened the realisation. If she had the chance now, she'd not hesitate to betray them, because the Genii name means less than nothing to her anymore. The only thing she fears more are the Wraith; yet she knows what to expect with Wraith, and she no longer hates them, since all her anger is reserved for what she used to be. She knows the Wraith will not draw out her death; they will not starve her, or heal her only to cut again. The Wraith do what is necessary to survive, the very same principle the Genii have adopted and twisted in their human minds and with their human ways until they can do anything under the sun imaginable and say it is acceptable because it is the Genii way.

She used to believe in the Genii way. She used to think that any cost was worth it, that they should do anything to secure a weapon against the Wraith, no matter that they had no right to deceive allies or judge who was worth it, who was expendable - like the two men who haunt her dreams. She finds she doesn't care about the fifty men who hit the shield with sickening thumps after Sheppard locked them out of the Atlantean computers. It's the bodies of the two unsuspecting Earth military that she sees, whom she mourns. They answered a call for help and paid the cost, paid it on behalf of the Genii. Maybe she had once thought it worthwhile, but now their deaths seem worthless and despicable. Sometimes she feels like she deserves the pain, because it isn't much, considering her real crimes, the mistakes that had originally taken more away from others than from herself. Her time on Atlantis seems like purgatory compared to the Genii prison, and Weir sent her here. Fate sometimes played out in strange patterns, to the point at which she thought perhaps she had been sent to this hell to pay for those deaths. She knows it isn't true, that Weir can't have known, because a woman like that, a people like that, wouldn't do this to someone. This is the Genii way, the wrong way. Still, reality often slipped away some days when she found herself seeing things that shouldn't have been there. Her father had visited her on her birthday, a relatively pleasant day because it was otherwise uneventful, and asked her nicely to give up, to tell them everything. He got angry when she said there was nothing more to give, to tell. He never came again, and the pain returned the next day.

Today is quite a good day, as far as days go, even with her death placed firmly on it. They take away the last of her possessions, the clothes she has gotten used to. She didn't mind one bit that they were ripped and bloody; they were hers, her old uniform, something left of the old Sora. They're replaced with a meager layer or two, just enough that she won't die of hypothermia before the Wraith get to her and bright enough to make her stand out. The same goes for her health; they force feed her, more food and drink than her stomach has had for months. It can barely handle the influx, but they insist – she knows it isn't from any sense of concern for her, apart from making sure she gets the death she deserves. There's no going quietly. They want her to suffer, and she doesn't know what they call the last few months if she wasn't suffering then.

She's taken to the gate, where there are a few familiar faces waiting. Kolya stands to one side, in full dress uniform – he looks, perhaps, a little regretful, but she isn't certain of her own feelings, let alone what his expression holds. Even if it is regret, he isn't doing anything to help her, and he hasn't done anything all these months when it could have made a difference. He surely knew what he left her to when he ceased to be her commander, ceased to be someone that she considered friend or family. He had been like a second father, an extra uncle, someone whom she looked up to, and now she looks down upon him. Maybe he can see that, maybe that is what the look is about. She rather hopes he feels the guilt of disappointing her, because in her eyes he betrayed her almost as much as the rest of them.

The only other notable person is Jarin. He is the only one who looks afraid for her, his hatred faltering when she meets his eyes. She wants to laugh again but keeps her silence out of respect. This is a solemn occasion, and she respects herself enough to go out with decency no matter how much they have taken away. Besides that, a large part of her is torn at seeing him. He may have wished her gone the last time she saw him, but it shows in his face that those were words said in fear and anger, emotions that didn't last. Still, the damage was done. He didn't come to save her; but she gives him a goodbye kiss on the cheek, and he does not look disgusted as he ought to for being touched by someone like her. Then they gag her and pack a day or two's worth of water in a small bag. She is meant to survive just long enough to die a different way. This is no test; were she to survive, they would only send her back again. They won't be satisfied until they find her decrepit body discarded like a snack. There's little chance the Wraith who frequent the planet would bother taking her back to a hiveship. She's barely any kind of sustenance for them, but certainly enough to take a taste of while visiting. She wonders if they know about this tradition. It's possible the leaders inform the Wraith somehow; they have many connections with people who could do so.

There is a last call for those present as they dial the remote planet the Wraith are known to call upon, one of the places of runners and the exiled. This once, they use her name as they announce her fate. The waters of the ring surge and retreat, the destination dialed. When she was a girl, she had been afraid of drowning in the circle, but long ago she had overcome her fear of gate travel. Such fears were unbecoming of a Genii warrior. At the moment, it almost seems like she will drown in it, metaphorically, for she is going to her death. This time, she overcomes the fear, not because she shouldn't feel it as a Genii, the last thing she wishes to be, but because she welcomes the consequences. Then she walks steadily into the horizon, is swallowed whole, and as her molecules are deconstructed, Sora is gone. She comes out the other side as someone else, a new person whose life is already over.


	3. Chapter 3

Spoilers: All through Season 1 - with future chapters having spoilersfor Season 2 Runner 

Summary: The prospect of going home seemed surreal, but it was  
happening. She just shouldn't have expected it to be that easy. Sorafic.

A/N: Thanks to Fanwoman and Ellex for beta reading this excellently.

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**Chapter 3: Running  
**

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The gate disengages soon after she stumbles out of the ring. As it turns out, her body can't handle walking very far at all. Her legs are weak, muscles deteriorated from abuse and lack of use. 

She tries to cough but can't. She wants to vomit, to purge her body of what they put back into her at the last minute. She might have absorbed some energy, but she wants to rid herself of as much as possible. If she's lucky, she might succumb to death naturally – dehydration isn't pleasant, but she wants it to be over. She bites at the gag; she can't untie it, as they bound her hands loosely before she left. This was their plan, that she'd be incapacitated by the bonds long enough to digest all the food and then, when she worked her way free, they probably hoped she would have a hunger, a thirst for more. But she doesn't give up, and rips at it with her hands, her jagged nails drawing blood from her lips as she does everything she can to get it off.

The gag does come off eventually, soaked with her own blood, and the taste of it in her mouth is enough to induce the gag reflex – leaving her stomach satisfyingly empty and her body that much closer to death.

She crawls away from the gate after that, knees scraping over rough ground, – the bag of meager supplies abandoned. Staying there would mean she'd be easier to find, but she'd rather die away from the stench of blood and vomit. She wants them to have to make an effort, to prove she's still worth something when they come for the body in a few days time. They might as well take their time, because they can pretend all they like that they don't care, but she knows they do in some twisted way – they care enough to hate her, to ensure she dies the way they wish and to want proof she is dead.

Times passes slowly, and she has no clue how long she crawls until she rests, unable to make it any further for now. In truth, she knows she won't make it further at all, this is where she'll die. She might manage a little farther, but she's already lost a considerable amount of blood from her untended wounds, and her fragile body won't take much more. She yields to the urge to sleep, wondering if she will wake up.

When she does, he's there, towering over her, grinning viciously, disgusting teeth exposed. She doesn't know what to think, now death is here, but her body betrays her, heart hammering as she panics despite her wishes. She wants death, she wants peace, but this doesn't feel like either, and the instinct rises, body preparing for fight or flight when it can manage neither. The hand strikes down to her chest, tearing away the garment, the other hand following, fingers ripping into her flesh, razor sharp points digging in excruciatingly. This is when she wants more time, when she realises she wants to live. It's worse than she could ever have imagined, a strange sensation of suffocation, but it's not deprivation of oxygen. The life is torn from her cells, mercilessly extracted without contest, with_ relish._ She can feel the satisfaction of the Wraith feeding, its hunger being sated as her strength wanes. Her mouth is open, but she can't find the breath to start screaming. If she could, she wouldn't stop until it was over. Death will end the agony, but now is when she suddenly feels what she has, as days are taken from her with each second, showing her just how much time she has left.

And then it stops. Through her blurred sight she sees a dark figure standing over the Wraith. She's still crying even though the pain is gone. She lifts her fingers to her face to find the skin still smooth, and it dawns on her this stranger has saved her, if only for a time – it's time enough that she isn't old yet, just older.

She blinks away the tears and sees the face of an Atlantean looking back at her. He's different than she recalls. Ford. Sheppard's Lieutenant, a member of their premiere team. He used to make jokes to pass the time guarding her and sometimes included her in the chats, careful not to say anything too specific. They had never trusted her enough to talk of Earth or of Atlantis, but he hadn't treated her like the enemy. It could have been because he never saw her as a threat. He should have, but from the moment he had met her he had underestimated her – she remembered how he'd second guessed her suitability for the allied reconnaissance mission during which her father had died. She had been incensed then, to be thought less than capable, but his friendliness had been appreciated on Atlantis.

"S...Sora?"

His right eye is blackened, the skin around it deformed somehow – she has never seen such an injury. But it is Ford.

"Yes... - no!"

"Can't make up your mind, huh?"

He smiles, like her indecision makes him forget everything else – that he is holding a piece of a Wraith in his hand, that she saw him extract with his bare hands after he defeated it alone, and that she is skin and bones, a person who let a Wraith take them with no fight at all. They seem as different as when they first met as Genii and Atlantean – but this time the fight is gone from her and his is increased two fold, a strange sense of balance achieved in the result.

And then the amusement disappears, giving way to a darkness.

"Where are all your buddies then? Waiting to take me down? Thought this would make a nice trap, right?"

His face screws up into a monster, and he pulls her to her feet ignoring that she cannot stand on her own anymore.

"Did Sheppard send you? Or Weir? McKay? They're really stooping low this time. You can tell them I'm not falling for it."

He drops her like a sack of rocks, and she finds herself winded. That's when the Ford she knows returns, some concern on his face at the damage he has inflicted.

It doesn't last long, the sound of his name being called distracts him. It's faint, she can barely tell what they are saying, but it sounds like "aedin" at which he panics. He flees, leaving her alone, alive and in the path of his team. All she has to do is wait and she'll be rescued. They won't find Ford, not if he doesn't want to be found, but they won't go back empty handed. She doubts she could move even if she wanted to – she can hardly resist them in this condition. The second chance she'd wanted has found her. She's not the same person who prayed for it from the Genii, but she would take it from the Atlanteans. Although it seems Ford is beyond saving, perhaps it might not be too late for her.


End file.
